


K&R

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: The K&R Collection [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: But No Rape Because We're Not Going There, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Kidnapping, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: After a really nice party, Darcy Lewis has been mistaken for Captain America’s girlfriend. Normally, this would thrill her--she’s nursed a secret unrequited crush on Steve Rogers ever since she and Jane moved into Tony Stark’s building, post-DC mess--but now she has two problems. One, she’s heard Steve’s dating the unflappable and elegant Sharon Carter and two, the scarred SHIELDRA psycho who kidnapped her thinks Darcy will make great Cap-bait. He’s kinda obsessed with Captain America after Steve dropped a building on him.Okay, the second problem might be more significant than that first one.Luckily, Darcy thinks her buddy Tony Stark is a little more flexible than the US government when it comes to negotiating with terrorists, she just needs to stay alive. Still, she could pretend to be Steve’s girlfriend--just to save herself--better if she’d ever actually worked up the nerve to talk to him more than once. That slow dance they shared on Tony Stark’s lawn was pretty great, until it gave someone the wrong idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

She’d always thought having your life flash before your eyes would be really slow, like in the movies, but it turned out that being snatched off the sidewalk in front of Starbucks and knocked unconscious in a van makes your life go really quickly. There was a five second tour of vivid memories--playing with her sister in the sprinklers in August, the smell of her mom’s favorite perfume, Jane’s beaming smile at a scientific breakthrough--and Darcy was out like a light.

 

When she woke up, she was tied to a chair in a creepy bank vault. By someone who knew how to do it, apparently; she couldn’t wiggle free. “Damn,” she cursed under her breath.

“You awake, sweetheart?” a masculine voice said from the adjoining room. “I thought you’d never wake up.” She could hear someone walking towards her in heavy boots. It was dark that way.

When he breached the circle of light around her, she realized she was looking at a man in a mask. “So, you’re the one?” he asked, almost casually. “The girl of the hour. The one everyone wants to know about. Tell me more about yourself”--he paused to look at her Stark ID in his hand--”Darcy Elizabeth Lewis.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Creepy McGee, but you can fuck right off,” she told him. “I won’t give you anything about Jane’s Science! or her location.”

  
“I’m not here for Dr. Foster,” the man said, sounding amused. “Are you really trying to hide your big secret right now? Not gonna beg for your life?”

“I know Thor and Tony Stark. They’ll be here momentarily to kick your ass,” she said. If she could keep him occupied, maybe the SI tracker in her purse would have time to work. It was disguised as a keychain.

He laughed. “Oh, you’re feisty, aren’t you? I know exactly _who_ you know, sweetheart. I bet he calls it something old fashioned like ‘gumption,’ though, doesn’t he?” the man said, making air quotes around the word. “Tells you that you’ve got pluck? Or does he say moxie?”

“Screw you, I really wanted that vanilla latte,” she told him, not following his words. Her head really hurt and she had no idea who he was talking about. Tony called her Itty Bitty, but he didn’t use Scott and Zelda-era slang and Thor was really more into calling her his “Lightning Sister.” Sometimes, he called her the Lady of Mischance, but that was more when she spilled things. Like her lattes. They’d tipped right over on the sidewalk when she dropped the tray.

“Yeah, I know, you probably wanted that coffee. Today’s your cheat day,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out her phone. She saw a flash of her calendar when he held it in the light. “Was it a full-fat vanilla latte or has the Widow put you on a special diet while you train?” he asked.

With a chill, Darcy realized he’d been watching her for longer than that morning. She was momentarily quiet. She could swear the man in the mask chuckled. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, honey, but we ditched that keyfob when we grabbed you. Your boyfriend’s not coming. Not yet, anyway.” Then he pulled out something that glinted in the light out of his utility belt. “I promise you won’t feel anything more than a little sting,” he said. “I need some time to move you, Darcy Lewis.”

 

Everything went dark again.

 

***

_Previously, in the land of Science! And Self-Rescuing Princesses_

 

There was a big Stark party. Tony was throwing it to celebrate the opening of the new upstate facility and had invited everyone he knew: your standard New York Avengers, that new guy who was Cap’s friend, the Falcon, two Sokovian kids called the Maximoffs, all the SHIELD officials who were either working for Tony or pretending to be dead, the Bleeker St. Wizard dude, and that Deadpool guy. There was even a California Ant Man contingent, including a scowling older man that Jane ID’d as Hank Pym.

“He’s weirdly dashing,” Darcy said, looking at his suit. “I didn’t know he was still alive.” She asked him to dance. He was a really good tango dancer, as it turned out, and they had a great time.

Darcy might have been tempted to say yes to his date invitation, had Hope Van Dyne not come over and said, “Dad, it will be a dealbreaker for our renewed relationship if you marry someone younger than me.”

“That’s too bad,” Hank said. Then he looked apologetically at Darcy. “Hopie’s really nicer than she looks.”

Tony, who’d been passing with champagne, piped up: “She’s great. I used to babysit her when we were kids. I showed her _Terminator 2_ and that’s how she got into being all Linda Hamilton-martial arts badass.”

“Her Louise Brooks bob is also very impressive,” Darcy told Hank. “Very stylish.”

“She will appreciate that you said that. Some people think it’s too severe,” he replied.

“I’m an old movie fan,” Darcy told him. “I like vintage things.”

“It’s really too bad she disapproves,” Hank said, winking at her. “I’m a little vintage myself.”

“Ewww,” Tony yelled from where he was dancing with Pepper nearby.

“Tony, shhh,” Pepper said, slapping his arm. “We have that business deal with him.”

 

Darcy decided that it would be helpful if she danced with some other people. She danced with Luis, Kurt, and Dave in turn, and did a few swings around the room with Maria Hill (also a very good tango dancer, as it happened). After a round of 1980s dances--the robot, the electric slide, a little Flashdance, some Footloose--with a rather manic Deadpool, she needed a break.

 

She’d snuck outside and was sitting on a bench when a famously patriotic voice said, “Miss Lewis?”

“Oh, Hi, Captain Rogers,” she said, feeling momentarily tongue-tied. He was standing there in a reproduction of his fancy WWII uniform. It was a lot. Cap tended to have that effect on her anyway; she’d been nursing a thing about him forever. “Where’s Sharon?” she asked. Sharon was his date tonight and his rumored girlfriend. She had an aura of cool efficiency that reminded Darcy of Pepper Potts, so the rumors were probably true. Superheroes needed super-talented girlfriends.

“Dancing with Maria, I think. It got a little warm in there for me. I tend to run a bit hot,” he said.

“From the serum,” she finished. Whoops. He wasn’t supposed to know she’d memorized some of his public bio like a teenager with a thing for one particular guy in boy band. Though there were always those Avengers breakup rumors, so maybe it was apt.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Of course not,” she said, doing a weirdly game show-y gesture out of panic, “come on down, Cap.”

“Pardon?” he asked cheerfully. His grin looked almost naughty.

“It’s, uh, a game show thing, _The Price is Right,_ ” she said, realizing he might think it was a double entendre if he hadn’t seen that show.

“Huh,” he said. “Must’ve missed that.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes until the band switched to “Stars Fell on Alabama.” Darcy sighed. “I love this song,” she said. “I have like a billion covers: Ella & Louis, Billie Holiday, Patti Page, She & Him. I’m a sucker for it.”

Captain America looked at her and smiled. “Would you like to dance, Miss Lewis?” he asked. He held out his hand. As he danced with her on Tony’s green lawn, the stars twinkled above and he told her a few funny stories about his childhood pal, Bucky Barnes. Unbeknownst to either of them, there were paparazzi with long lenses in the distance.

***

The photos of them were fuzzy, but Tony thought it was funny that they ran on every gossip blog within a few hours. He stopped by the lab the next morning. “They’re all trying to ID you as the second Peggy Carter, Itty Bitty. Which is hilarious, since you and Cap barely know one another. Does he even know your first name?” he asked.

“Shut up, Tony, that’s rude,” Jane said. “Of course he does.” Jane knew about Darcy’s unrequited thing for Steve.

“I hope this doesn’t break Hank Pym’s heart,” Tony said, cackling. After, he departed, Jane looked at her kindly.

“He totally does know your name, Darce,” she said softly.

“It’s not like it makes any difference, he’s dating Sharon,” Darcy said firmly. She resolved to put it out of her mind. What was one dance anyway? Even a few dances? No one was really paying attention.

 

***

Several weeks later, she came to in a car trunk after Creepy McGee jabbed her with that syringe. Remembering her training from Natasha, she tried to kick out the car’s tail light. It was difficult. She was still tied up and it was a really big trunk. She thought it might be an old car. She ended up rolling around more than she got the tail light loose. The inside of the trunk smelled like rust. Or what she hoped was rust. She’d heard blood could smell like metal, too.

When the vehicle came to stop, her abductor popped the trunk and sighed. “Did you try to kick out the tail light on my Impala? It’s a ‘59. That part’s irreplaceable. Bad girl.” Then he chuckled. “Hold still, honey, it’s your big moment,” he said. She cussed at him as he took photos of her in the trunk. “You’re very photogenic,” he said in response and she could tell he was smiling. “Cap will love these.”

“What?” she said, thinking she’d heard wrong. “Who?”

“Your boyfriend, Captain America,” he said. “You don’t recognize me, do you? We met once in New Mexico, before your sweetheart gave me these,” he said, pulling off his mask. Even in the dark, Darcy could see the burns and his mangled ear.

  
“You’re Crossbones,” she said in horror.

“I think I look pretty good, all things considered,” Brock Rumlow said casually.

 

It turned out someone had been paying attention.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cream In My Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

At the facility, Jane Foster paced and wept. She’d sent Thor to the best person she knew to find Darcy: the man who guarded Asgard’s BiFrost. Now she waited for Stephen Strange to arrive by portal.

Tony Stark was video chatting Hank Pym at the other end of the labs. “Whatever resources you need, Tony, I’m happy to help. Scott will arrive tonight,” the older man was saying. “It’s crucial we move quickly. If she’s going to be okay, it’s in our best interest to find her as soon as possible. Let me bring in some experts I know.”

“Yeah, send anyone who can help,” Tony said, thinking of Afghanistan. He’d read the missing persons stats, too. The longer you were gone, the more likely it was they brought you home in a box, if they ever found your body at all.

“We appreciate your dad’s offer of help,” Bruce Banner said quietly to Hope Van Dyne. She’d been at the facility for a meeting with Pepper today and had called her dad when she heard about Darcy. “We have Thor going to Heimdall now. Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Cap are all canvassing and looking for the van,” he continued. “The de facto SHIELD people, too. We don’t know if this is about the team or Jane’s research, really.”

“My dad _could_ be helpful,” Hope said sadly. “My mom disappeared on a mission when I was young. She was the Wasp. He spent years looking for her in the Quantum Realm. When he finally gave up, he decided to volunteer his money and scientific knowledge on missing persons cases. That’s what he’s been doing all these years. He says the not knowing is the worst part for families--it doesn’t matter if it’s another realm or Baja, California, it still hurts the same.”

“I didn’t know that,” Bruce said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” she said, looking a little raw. “Just pretend you don’t know.”

Bruce nodded sympathetically. He was used to pretending. Right now, he was pretending to be okay and holding in his constant anger. Bruce and Darcy were pals; everyday she brought him his green tea and some baked good as pretext for checking up on him. At least once a week, they played Scrabble together and he let her cheat. In the Tower, she’d invited him to the most recent Foster/Odinson/Lewis Norse-themed Christmas Eve, so he wouldn’t be alone. She’d insisted he take two dozen St. Lucia buns for “the Other Guy, he deserves them, too.”  It hurt him a little that he had no good skills for this situation.

 

***

Brock Rumlow carried Darcy inside the house. There were no lights on. No one else was there. Darcy had a very bad feeling. Mostly, the feeling was that this was where she was going to die. He’d taken the taser and knife hidden in her tall boots. She was taser-less.  


He was tying her to a chair in the dining room when she heard something large and ominous thud against a door somewhere behind her. “Oops,” he said cheerfully, “I forgot to ask. It’s not in your leaked SHIELD file. You aren’t allergic to dogs, are you?”

She shook her head.

“That’s good. Those are Dobermans, sweetheart. They keep anyone who wants to bother me out and anything I want to stay inside, right here,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face. Then he pulled the gag slightly out of her mouth. “You really do have a remarkable mouth,” he said, running his thumb along her lip. She spat at him. He wiped his face and smiled.

“I like dogs, it’s you I can’t stand the sight of, Fuckface,” she hissed. “I hope you get eaten by your own hounds, you Nazi sicko.” He chuckled and pulled out a knife from his boot.

He put the knife against the bottom of her lip. “Still feisty, huh? You definitely have that Peggy Carter vibe that Cap likes. He might not like it if you weren’t so pretty anymore. Life’s not so easy when you used to be gorgeous, is it?” he asked. He raked the knife against her lip.

“Shut up, asshole. And stop stealing your threatening moves from _The Tourist_ , it’s not even that good of a movie,” she said. “You’re imitating a lackluster villain. Do better.” She’d decided that she would feel better if she died fighting and snarking instead of whimpering at this shithead. He threw back his head and actually laughed in response.

“Guilty as charged,” he said, stowing away the knife. “It was a subpar movie, wasn’t it? Depp phoned it in.” He stood up, brushing dirt from his pants leg. “I had hopes of better from him, but that’s all he does lately. Still, you’d think if anything could motivate a man to go to work, it would be Jolie. You sort of have her mouth.”

“Are you seriously discussing cinema with me, you psycho?” she asked. He grinned at her.

“Technically, I’m a sociopath. The serum seems to have brought out more of my previously hidden no-feelings side. But my curiosity is still alive. I’m interested in your knowledge and opinions of various things,” he said. “For instance, Steve Rogers. Does he like your mouth?”

“Go to hell,” she said. She refrained from telling him that Steve probably had no feelings about her at all. That might make her totally expendable. Or make him angry when he realized he’d grabbed the wrong girl.

“This is my dilemma,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken, “I can mangle your beautiful face all up and keep you alive for awhile or maybe even deliver you back to him. If you live, he’ll probably still love you. Does he tell you about visiting Peggy? She’s ninety and he still hasn’t given up carrying the torch.”

“Everyone knows that,” she spit out. It was common knowledge that Cap still took Peggy flowers once a week, even if she only remembered him sometimes.

“So, cutting you up doesn’t really work as a strategy for hurting him. Neither does murdering you. The real pain all goes to you, really. He might carry it around some, seeing as he’s a martyr, but you’d do all the true suffering there. And any pleasure I’d get out of it won’t last as long as I live. I need to find something that really makes him unhappy for a long time, so I’ll feel good as long as he’s miserable,” he said. "He's left me miserable for life, I want to repay him in kind."

She swore at him again. He smiled.

“But remember, this isn’t personal, sweetheart,” he said, almost cheerful. He pulled out her phone. “I was looking at this while you were out,” he said. “You like a lot of old music. Or is that just for him?”

“That’s mine,” she said. The idea that he'd crawled around in her tastes and preferences made her feel sick. "Those are mine. Nothing to do with him."

“I’m aware of your attachment,” he said. “I saw all your emails to Coulson. You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you? I need something to help me think.”

 

He left the room and a moment later, a speaker she hadn’t seen in the ceiling started playing her copy of Jack Hylton’s “You’re The Cream In My Coffee.” She dry heaved around the gag.

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Close Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

Darcy was having a real Vicky Vale moment. When she was a little girl, her brother had shown her the original  _ Batman  _ with Jack Nicholson as the Joker. She’d had nightmares for weeks about what he’d done to Jerry Hall’s face trying to make them match. It had given her a whole un-fun thing about porcelain dolls, actually. Jane still threatened to make her go to the doll museum when she got grumpy about transcribing Jane’s notes. Right now, she would have given anything to be at the damn doll museum.

Across from her at the dining table, Brock Rumlow was eating a steak. Medium rare. He smiled at her. Her phone was playing Ella Fitzgerald’s “Close Your Eyes” over their heads. “Pretty song. Romantic,” he said. “You hungry?”

“No,” she said, not trusting him not to poison her. It had been several hours. She knew what that meant. Jane would have sent Thor to Heimdall immediately. He couldn’t find her. Still, how was Rumlow using her phone to play music without Tony being able to track it?

“You sure?” he asked. 

“How are you using my phone for that?” she asked him. “Without alerting someone?” He smiled.

“That is a good question,” he said. “Smart question. You can blame Nick Fury. SHIELD has secrets they don’t share with everyone. HYDRA stole a lot of them. One of them might be a device that cloaks all electronics entering a location,” he said. “A lot easier to block a whole safehouse than account for all devices.”

She couldn’t help but wince.

“Oh, honey,” he said, “don’t look so sad.”

“Fuck you,” she said. He chuckled.

“I really do like this song,” he said. “I think I’ll put it on repeat for awhile.” He left the room for fifteen minutes and then returned. He was carrying her phone. The sound of that Ella song over and over was making her crazy.

“New song?” he asked. When she didn’t reply, he changed it to “Summertime” and smiled at her. “Better? This doesn’t have to be difficult for you,” he said. “This isn’t personal. It’s him I’m after. Would you like to make a deal with me?”

 

 

***

When Thor returned to the facility, he looked heartbroken. “My Jane,” he said, “Heimdall is missing. He has abandoned his post at the BiFrost. There is a man called Skurge there now. He has not the gifts of Heimdall. I do not understand.”

 

“Then we have to go to phase two,” Jane said, trying to remain calm. They’d worked it out after the Dark Elves thing. She had to stay calm for Darcy. “Tony, why aren’t we already pinging her phone?”

“No signal,” Tony said. “I didn’t think that was possible. Maybe they destroyed it?”

Maria Hill cleared her throat. “It’s possible that SHIELD had tech,” she began.

 

They found security footage of the guys who’d grabbed her. Steve recognized them immediately. “They’re Crossbones’ men,” he said. “I recognize the tactical gear and their heights from that bank robbery security tape. This is Rumlow. It’s not about Jane, it’s about me.”

“Why would it be about you?” Hope asked.

“They danced together at that party,” Jane said softly. “There were paparazzi with long lens cameras who took pictures and tried to identify her.”

“Rumlow would know who she is because he was in New Mexico,” Sharon Carter said.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clint muttered under his breath. Clint had worked with Rumlow. So had Natasha and Steve. She could be dead already.  

“We must find her quickly,” Nat said. “Does anyone have intelligence on HYDRA safe houses?”

“That’s the most likely location,” Sharon said. Tony was having Jarvis run a scan when the AI interrupted. 

“Sir, I’m afraid Mr. Rumlow is calling you on line one,” he said. 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Tony said. “Put him on and trace it.”

“That appears to be impossible,” the AI said. “The call is untraceable.”

 

When Brock Rumlow’s face appeared on the screen, even Tony flinched. “Where’s Cap, Stark?” he asked. “That’s who I’m calling for.” 

“I’m here,” Steve said, stepping into camera frame. 

“Perfect,” Rumlow said, grinning. In the background, a jazz song was playing softly on repeat. To her horror, Jane recognized it as one of Darcy’s favorites.

“Where is she?” she yelled at the screen.

“Your friend is fine, Dr. Foster,” Rumlow said. “I don’t intend to harm her.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Steve asked angrily.

“I do,” the man onscreen said. “You see, Cap, I know how you get guilty. So, I want you to know that, at any given time or place, no matter where you are, your girl is with me and very much alive. I’m going to keep her well. Well and close. I’ll take good care of her.” 

“Hey, asshole,” Tony began, but Rumlow cut him off.

“You know what’s scarier than pain or death, Cap? Fear. Every single day, she’s going to wake up unharmed and wonder if today is the day I finally change my mind,” he said. “All the rest of her life, just waiting for it. You have a good day now, Mr. Stark.”

 

The call was disconnected.

  
  


***

“I’m not making a deal with you,” she said. He moved his half-finished plate near her and pulled a chair out in front of her own. He tsk-tsk’d. Then he sat, so close to her that his knees brushed her own. He looked at her intently.

“Don’t be so hasty, Darcy Lewis,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. We can come to an agreement so you don’t have to suffer for Steve Rogers. Why should you? So many people have already. I knew his pal Bucky, you know.” At her sound of distress, he smiled. When she tried to pull away, he held her chin still with his hand.

“Then there are all those other friends,” he said, stressing the last word, “who suffered by carrying him all those years. His Commando buddies. Peggy Carter, trying to live up to his example and be a good little girl agent when every sexist man in SHIELD loathed her. The Starks. You know what’s happened to that family. Two generations of devastation connected to the legacy of the great Captain. Tony’s a drunk playboy who knows daddy didn’t love him and Howard and Maria are dead. Bucky killed them.” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and she flinched.

“What?” she said, shocked to her bones.

“Oh, yeah. It’s one of those secrets again,” he said, tsk-ing again and running one index finger along her ear. “They de-iced the Winter Soldier for the formula Howard was carrying. Stupid old fool was transporting it in a car, un-fucking-armed, with just him and the wifey. No security. They had a little collison with an artifact from the war. ”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, starting to shake.

“I wonder if Cap knows yet? Or Tony?” Rumlow asked. “Bucky talked about it in between his scrambled egg sessions. Poor Howard begged someone to help his wife. He recognized Barnes. You know the most ironic part? The ‘91 formula made the test subjects too unstable. They were trying to make new versions of Cap. None of it worked. Totally pointless. Tony’s parents died for no reason.” He ran his thumb along the edge of her chin softly. 

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, trying to absorb it all.

“When you say that, it hurts my feelings,” he said. “Here, you need to eat. You know this isn’t poisoned.” He held her chin in his grip and fed her off his plate with a fork. “Try the broccoli rabe. I’ll think we’ll be here together for awhile. You’ll need to get plenty of vitamins when you spend all your time indoors, sweetheart.”

 

After a few minutes, he offered her some of his wine, pressing the glass to her lips. She was tempted to spit it back at him, but her throat was dry. When she swallowed, he smiled. He’d watched her the whole time. She tried to avoid making eye contact with him, but it was almost impossible with him so close. His eyes never left hers.

  
“I think you’ll be happy here,” he said. “I’m curious to find out how you fell for Cap. Did you ever read that New York Times piece about encouraging intimacy? Supposedly, sustained eye contact for more than four minutes makes two people fall in love.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man, y'all are leaving the funniest comments about this one. I thought everyone would be all "Noooooooooooo, too dark!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm A Fool To Want You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

To her intense discomfort, he didn’t actually lock her in a prison cell within the house. Instead, he took her shoes away, untied her ropes and sent her into a spartan tiled bathroom that had nothing she could use as a weapon. No mirrors, nothing but soap, towels, a toilet, and a drain in the floor. He’d left a change of clothes by the inside of the door. The change of clothes--her old ones were filthy from rolling around in the trunk--was just a pair of leggings, a shirt, and underwear. 

“I don’t get fucking shoes or socks?” she asked angrily, when he let her out. He’d made her wait. “It’s cold.” He was making it more difficult for her to escape, she knew. He was sitting in front of the bathroom door, reading a book on military history. He seemed determined to stay close.

“I might be amenable to giving you socks,” he said, standing up. He didn’t tie her up with ropes again; he had a pair of leg shackles and another for her wrists. “If you cooperate,” he said, “these can go, too. I’ll just fit you with an ankle monitor.”

“I’ll run, asshole,” she told him firmly. He laughed. 

“Nice to see you’ve still got your pluck,” he said. “But remember, the dogs are out there. They sleep with access to outside at night. This place is isolated. The fence is electrified and it’s a more than mile to the gate. That’s if you head in the exact right direction. They’re well-trained dogs.”

“Okay, fine, they’ll kill me, but I’ll be away from you,” she said.

“Oh, no,” he said. “They’re trained to pin and hold until I tell them to let go. They’d just leave you with bites and bruises on your arms and legs. Dog bites are incredibly painful. It’s the shape of the teeth, I think. They also tend to get infected easily. You’d be unhappy. I don’t want you to be unhappy. Living room?” he offered.

 

He seemed determined to cycle through her favorite songs. This time it was Chet Baker’s “I’m A Fool To Want You.” It had never felt so eerie and threatening before.

“So,” he said, once they sat down, “you wanna tell me about Cap?”

“Why?” she asked him. “You worked with him for years, you know him better than I do.”

“Not dating long, then?” he asked.

“No,” she said. Nat had told her once that the key to successful lying was telling the the truth as much as possible. “Not long at all.”

He looked at her intently again, as if he heard the sadness in her tone. “Regrets, sweetheart? He knew this could happen if he dated you, you know,” he asked. 

“Hardly his fault,” she said.

“Isn’t it?” he said and returned to his book.

 

***

They sat like that for an hour and then he led her back to the dining room and tied her to a chair again. “I just need to go print something, honey. I’ll be back,” he said. She tried to undo her ropes, but he returned too quickly. He tsk-tsk’d at her again. “And I was going to give you chocolate,” he said.

“I hope you die, Nazi asshole,” she said.

  
  


She was horrified when she realized he intended them to sleep in the same room at night. “How do you know I won’t escape and murder you in your sleep?” she asked, when he looped her shackles around a locked latch on the daybed he’d directed her to; it was opposite the bed he was planning on sleeping in.

“You could,” he said casually, bringing her a blanket. “But you won’t. A person who buys a taser instead of a gun isn’t a murderer, they’re a runner. Also, killing me doesn’t solve your exit problem. There will be no one to call off the dogs if I’m dead. They might eventually seriously injure you if you fight, the gate is still locked, and you don’t have the codes. Again, cooperate and you might get your own room. Here,” he said, tossing her a pair of cotton socks, “in case you’re cold.” When she refused to put them on, he smiled. “Do you listen to music at night? I think that might be pleasant.” 

 

She didn’t sleep that night. The sound of his breathing in combination with the faint breathy lilt of Chet Baker made her skin crawl. At one point, she shifted--the bed was squeaky, she noticed--and he spoke: “Trouble sleeping, sweetheart?”

 

She pretended not hear him. 

 

She was trying to think of ways to escape. She might be able to injure him and bribe the dogs with food or lock them in a room, but the gate remained an unsolvable problem. The least complicated thing might be to find a phone and try to use an app to pinpoint her location for Tony. She just might need to hide in the woods while she did it.

 

***

Thor had gone in search of Heimdall, rumored to be in hiding after a dispute with Odin. Tony was flying around in the suit and having Jarvis scrape all the possible databases and sources for potential HYDRA boltholes. He had Sam and Rhodey with him. Clint was off searching in 6-person teams with Natasha, some of his old agent buddies, and the remnants of SHIELD. Coulson had even arrived on the Bus. The Deadpool guy was trawling his underworld contacts.

 

It meant Jane was the only one awake when Cap, Bruce, and Scott stumbled from their search in at dawn. Pepper and Hope had finally gone to bed at 3am. She nodded to the scientist and the engineer as they came past her at the kitchen island. They both looked exhausted. Steve sat down next to her. “No luck?” she asked him.

“No,” he said softly. “But we’ll find her, I promise.” He put his arm around her and Jane cried on his shoulder. Once he’d eaten, he got up to leave again.

“You haven’t slept,” Jane said.

“I slept for decades, Jane, I can be awake now,” he said quietly, putting his shield back over his shoulder. 

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about dancing with Darcy Lewis on Tony’s lawn. The most puzzling thing was that Rumlow had somehow  _ known _ : he and Sharon had agreed to spread that rumor about them dating to get Nat and the SI gossip mill off his back. She was just a friend. Also, Sharon was definitely into Maria Hill.

 

Since the party, he’d been thinking of asking Darcy Lewis on a date. There just hadn’t been time between missions.

 

Several hours later, Steve returned to the facility at the same time as a courier. “Delivery for Captain Rogers?” the man said. It was a manila envelope. Steve recognized Brock Rumlow’s handwriting. Inside the envelope, he found 8x10 photos of Darcy in a car trunk. He’d actually had them printed on glossy paper.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos and kind comments! Y'all are the best!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny, Tu N'es Pas Un Ange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

“What can I give you to help us establish a little more trust, honey? Besides that blanket?” he said to her on their third day together. He was working on a laptop in an office in the house and had her shackled to the leg of another chair. It was a large armchair nailed to the floor; she’d actually dozed off a little because she wasn’t sleeping at night. When she woke up again, he’d draped a blanket over her and brought her some coffee in a plastic cup with a sippy lid. She couldn’t throw it at him. He was doling the coffee out selectively, she’d noticed, as some sort of present. He drank coffee in front of her all day, too.

“I’ll never trust you,” she said.

“That’s a mistake. It’s an understandable mistake, but still a mistake,” he said. “This doesn’t have to be unpleasant for you. Would you like some of your things back? I still have your bag.”

“Go to hell,” she said, thinking of how they’d dragged her off that sidewalk. What she really wanted was to be rescued. To see Jane again. As if he’d read her thoughts, Rumlow looked up at her.

“If he hadn’t taken an interest in you, you’d still be at work today, you realize that? Getting Dr. Foster her coffee, making jokes with the security guards, spending entirely too much money on old movies and fake-old makeup,” he said.

“How do you know what I spend money on?” she asked.

“It’s not that difficult to access someone’s banking history and their online ordering,” he said. “But, really, honey, $27 on a Peggy Carter themed lipstick? It’d be a shame to let it go to waste when I have it,” he said.

 

***

That night, when she showered before dinner, she discovered that he’d replaced her usual loose, cotton shirts with an off the shoulder blouse. It was a deep red. It looked like something she’d seen Brigitte Bardot wearing in the south of France once, she thought with a shudder. She felt exposed. When he let her out of the bathroom, he smiled.

“You look very pretty in that,” he said, shackling her again. “We could always upgrade your wardrobe, if that would make you happy.”

“I hate you,” she said. He still wouldn’t give her shoes. It was freezing outside, but he kept the house warm enough to dress her like it was August in Cannes.

“It matches that lipstick you spent too much money on,” he said conversationally. “I’ve been trying to figure out your favorite color.”

A few minutes later, when she was shackled to the dining room chair again, watching him eat--he always ate first and then fed her from his plate, it was the worst part of her day--he looked up at her and smiled.

“What?” she asked. He was playing her favorite French songs tonight; Edith Piaf was singing “Johnny Tu N’es Pas Un Ange.”

“Nice song. You speak French? What’s she saying about Johnny?” he asked.

“I took it in high school,” she admitted. “I understand some.”

“So, what does it mean?” he asked.  He wasn’t going to let this go. He liked to ask her questions. She’d already made up a fictional first date with Steve to satisfy him. She’d pretended they’d gone for coffee and Steve had taken her out on his bike. It was something she’d seen Steve do alone at the facility.

“It translates as “Johnny, you’re no angel or something,” she said. He smiled broadly at her.

 

***

After he’d fed her--with that intent, pleased look that scared her--he pulled her lipstick out of his pocket. “Interesting tube,” he said. It was silver. “Would you like to wear this now? I’m going to take some more photos for Cap.”

“Fuck you,” she said. He laughed. He held her chin in place and made to paint her mouth.

“How do you do this?” he asked curiously.

“There was a lip brush in my bag,” she admitted. He left the room and returned with it. The sensation of him applying lipstick made her shudder.

“I’m not going to hurt you, remember?” he said. “We have company coming tomorrow. How do you feel about fish? Any allergies?" 

She swore at him again.

"I'll take that as a no," he said. 

He seemed to particularly enjoy taking photos of her tied to the chair and dressed like a 1950s pin up. Afterwards, he made her go change back into one of the t-shirts she normally slept in. “I think we’ll save that outfit for another special occasion. Might turn out to be one of Cap’s favorites,” he said. "I have a different one for you tomorrow."

When they went to the living room as usual, he played her a Bardot movie instead of reading: _Love on A Pillow (Le repos du guerrier)_. “Subtitles?” she asked. “You don’t strike me as the type to enjoy old French movies.”

“I have hidden depths,” he said. She flinched when he leaned over during the movie and brushed a strand of her hair away. “You’d look nice with those bangs,” he said. “Isn’t it nice how she saves him from his suicidal impulses?”

“He ruins her life,” she said. 

“Oh, yes. But I think they’re in love, don’t you?”

 

That night, she could tell he was in a good mood. When she tried to sneak out of her bed and break the lock that kept her shackled to it, he only laughed and told her to go back to sleep from across the room.

 

***

 

Nat made Steve give her the photos of Darcy in the trunk. Then she called in the Maximoffs from Xavier’s school to help. They’d been there since they were liberated from Sokovia, learning how to control their powers and adjusting to their new lives. She spread the photos out in front of them. To Pietro, she said, “we may need you to grab her quickly if there’s a chance, but I really want Wanda’s opinion.” She played them Jarvis’s recording of Rumlow’s video call.

Steve looked grief-stricken and furious at all of it. “Why are we making them watch this?” he asked.

“Is he telling the truth?” Nat asked Wanda. “Can you tell?”

“I think so,” Wanda said. “More difficult to tell in footage than real life. If I could get close to him….”

“We are watching this because it’s my hope he does want to keep her alive, Steve. Otherwise, she may be dead already,” the Russian said.

Steve went to see how Tony was progressing with the data on HYDRA safe houses. They’d already raided a dozen. He had a hard time looking at Jane Foster's face every time she found out that the latest one had been empty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all your comments and kudos!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be My Daddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

The next morning, he looked at her over his breakfast. “Would you like to say hello to Jane?” he asked. “You’d have to cooperate with my plans for today, though.” He’d tied her arms down with extra rope to the arms of the chair.

“You expect me to believe I could actually talk to her?” she asked.

“Secure video feed,” he said. “She’s probably the only one home, poor thing. Don’t you want to let her know you’re not being tortured? You know how imaginations can run wild,” he said.

 

There was a chime above them.

 

“That’ll be the person here to visit you today. Be nice to him,” he said. “I have big plans, sweetheart.” He’d been playing her Lana Del Rey all that morning. He’d put “Be My Daddy” on a loop once.

 

***

The man he let into the room looked distinctly twitchy. “This is Jean-Louis, he’s one of Pierce’s old assets, he was in intelligence collection in DC. Got Pierce all kinds of interesting Congressional info in his workplace,” Brock said, grinning. The man was carrying a hard-sided kit and some sort of plastic sheet. Brock pushed a rolling cart in behind him.

“This is the woman?” Jean-Louis said. “She’s tied up?”

“She’s my new long-term companion,” Brock said. “I think it might be a good idea for you to work your magic. You saw what I want. Think we can get it done today?”

“Yes,” Jean-Louis said, looking at her critically. “I can do that. It may take several hours.”

“Good. If she gets ahold of anything sharp while you work, I’ll stab you with it, pal,” Brock said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it.” To Darcy he said: “Remember to play nice, sweetheart, and I’ll let you call Jane tonight.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this today. I think you’ll like it, honey,” he said casually. “You’re choosing the right side,” he said before he left the room.

 

The other man set down his kit.

“What are you going to do to me, you fucker?” she asked him.

“Please don’t try to escape,” the man said quietly. “I think he really will hurt me if you do.” His hands shook as he set down the plastic sheet thing.

“Why should I fucking care?” she said.

“I didn’t know about HYDRA when I fed gossip to Pierce,” he said, swallowing. “After those files leaked, he showed up at my house and told me he wouldn’t kill me, but I’d owe him something one day. I don’t want to die.”

“He called in a favor and you ran to torture me?” she said bitterly.

“No. I’m just here to do your hair,” the man said. “I was Pierce’s hairdresser. I used to tell him which Senator’s wife thought her husband was cheating. I didn’t know it was anything more than a joke.”

 

***

Several hours later, Jane was sitting in her lab at the facility, waiting for news. Everyone else was out searching. Stephen Strange had told her that he was using all the location magic at his disposal. “Dr. Foster,” Jarvis said suddenly, “Mr. Rumlow is calling for you.”

 

“Record it, please, Jarvis,” Jane said. Nat had told her that all footage of him might be used to location her somehow. But he wasn’t alone when the video-call screen popped up. There was a blonde woman sitting next to him. She was tied to a chair. 

“How’s your day going, Doctor?” Rumlow asked cheerfully.

“Darcy?” Jane asked. It had taken a second for Jane to recognize her in the blonde wig.

“Hi, Jane,” Darcy said, crying. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Tell her you’re fine,” Rumlow prompted. He brushed her bangs to one side.

“I’m not physically hurt,” Darcy said flatly.

“She was very good today, so she got to talk to you. What do you think of her hair?” Rumlow asked Jane.

“Fuck you, asshole, take that wig off,” Jane hissed.

“She thinks it’s a wig, honey,” he said. He shook his head. “This is her new look, Jane. Don’t women like to do that after a bad breakup? We’ve been watching some Bardot movies, I thought it would give her a fresh start with me.” He ran his burned fingers through the side of Darcy’s hair and Jane saw her flinch.

“Tell Cap I said his best girl is leaving that whole 1940s thing behind now,” Rumlow said. Then the feed went dead.

 

***

“Did you get a rush out of that, too, honey?” Brock asked her as she stared at the now-dark screen. He rubbed her scalp. “Tender from the bleach? You’re so tense.”

When he unshackled her to go to the bathroom, she finally attacked him, screaming. She’d hit him several times and scratched his scarred face when he pinned both of her hands against the wall. He was breathing heavily, but smiling. “You’re just all wound up, sweetheart. It’s been a big week, huh? You can relax now,” he said. “You saw Jane. She has no idea where you are.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she promised. “One day.”

“Are you?” he asked. He leaned his face close to hers. “I don’t think you will in the end.”

She screamed at him and tried to lunge free. He laughed. He held her against the wall until she had exhausted herself and her wrists were sore.

When she started to sob, he held her in his arms and stroked her hair.  “It’ll be okay, baby,” he said. “You can trust me. I won’t hurt you.” He rubbed her shoulders as she cried harder.  

Above their heads, Lana Del Rey was still singing. 

“You wanna dance?” he whispered in her ear. She was boneless and shaking in his arms when he led her around the room.

 

***

 

That night, in the dark, she had calmed down enough to talk. “Why don’t you just take what you want?” she asked.

A few feet away, he sat up. She could tell he was looking at her. “Oh, no, don’t worry about that,” he said. “If that happens, it’ll be because you wanted it, too.”

“That will never happen,” she said.

“I think it will be more special,” he said, “when you give me affection because you care about me, too. The best gift. Don't you think Cap will agree?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos!
> 
> (If you wonder what Darcy might look like here, it looks like Dennings was blonde-ish in parts of "The House Bunny")


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diamonds and Pearls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

The morning after the phone call to Jane, another courier arrived with a package for Captain Rogers. Inside was a second set of 8x10s. This time it was Darcy tied to a chair. There were at least a dozen photographs. Her facial expression and the angle of the camera changed several times, as if he’d asked her pose. She was wearing a red top that Jane said she didn’t recognize. There were photos of her from the side that focused on the angle of her nearly bare shoulder; her face was fuzzy and indistinct above. The graininess made her mouth look like a bleeding wound.

“Is that a bullet?” Pepper asked in a frightened voice. She pointed at something small and metallic on the wooden table.

“That’s her lipstick on the table,” Jane said, “I recognize it. She’s wearing some. It’s the Peggy Carter red that they used for that TV show.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony said.

“He’s written something on the back of this one, Steve,” Bruce said from the end of the table.

Steve hurried down and took the photo out of Bruce’s hand. The handwriting on the back was clear and legible, almost purposefully so.

 

_Dear Cap,_

_I just wanted you to know she and I are having a great time. Didn’t want you to worry that something might have happened to her since you and I spoke. This is the last time she’ll look like you remember, though. We’re making some changes. She’s been so good for me, I’m committed to making this relationship work. We spoke to Jane yesterday. She’d love to do it again. But you probably won’t hear from us for a few weeks. She and I need some privacy. It’s a couples thing. Don’t stress, Cap, I won’t let her out of my sight._

_All my best,_

_BR_

 

Steve went to Tony’s gym and broke ten bags. Then he spent all night busting up HYDRA safehouses. He could feel his control slipping.

 

***

 

The next week or so seemed to go by quickly. She’d lost track of the days. “You’ve been very good, sweetheart,” Brock said to her one night as they listened to Chet Baker sing about his valentine, “I think you deserve something special. I’ve got a present for you.”

“For promising to kill you?” Darcy reminded him.

“Oh, I liked that, that was a fun night,” he said. “Wouldn’t be any fun for me if you suddenly became all meek and mild.”

He insisted on spoon-feeding her chocolate mousse. She spit it back at him. He laughed, wiped it off his face, and sucked it off his fingers. “I’ve had people spit their blood and teeth in my face, sweetheart. This is fun for me,” he said.

After dinner, he showed her the present: he’d put a vanity in the bedroom. “I thought it might be good for you to get all your pretty things back, sweetheart. You’re very feminine. You shouldn’t be deprived,” he said. “Back in Cap’s day, the administration let the factories keep making lipstick because they thought it was good for morale. The mirror is shatterproof acrylic, but I think you can make do.”

He’d stocked it with hairbrushes and cosmetics, but nothing sharp or breakable she could use as a weapon. She found it disturbing that he enjoyed watching her get ready everyday. Sometimes, he brought a drink into the room and told her what to put on. Jewelry started to appear and he brought in a second piece of furniture to hold it.

 

***

 

“What are you doing?” he asked one night sometime in week three or four. They were listening to Prince’s “Diamonds and Pearls.”

“Brushing my hair,” she said. “It’s messy.”

“Don’t,” he said. “I like it curly and wild like that. Wear that pink lipstick, too.” He’d replaced her Peggy Carter lipstick with pink and nudes. Her face looked strange in the shatterproof mirror. She didn’t look like herself anymore. She was actually starting to resemble Vicky Vale. He’d had the hairdresser guy back--shaking like a leaf with terror the whole time--to lighten her hair more.

They’d also been having a historic cold snap, so she’d postponed her plans to steal a phone and flee into the woods until the snow cleared. She was pretending not to mind when Rumlow stared at her for hours on end. The fucker still wouldn’t give her shoes. Whenever she asked for shoes, he got her jewelry or chocolate instead. She’d learned he had an assistant manning the gate who bought all the groceries and ran his errands. Rumlow never left her alone.

 

“Here, I’ve got you another gift,” he said suddenly, interrupting her train of thought. He deposited something in her palm. He snapped it open and she jumped. He laughed.

“What is it?” she asked. There was something white inside.

“It’s a solid perfume, baby,” he said, swiping some on his fingers. “A bottle might be breakable. It’s called Fracas.” He ran it over her collarbones. The scent was surprisingly heavy and intense. Flowers, she thought.

“It’s strong,” she said coldly, trying not to flinch at his touch.

“Like you,” he said. “Strong and beautiful.” He leaned down and smelled her neck. His lips brushed against her collarbone for a fraction of a second. She was tempted to hit him with her hairbrush, but he’d just hold her still until she got too tired to fight. It seemed to give him some deep, creepy satisfaction whenever she did that, so she’d been trying not to react. He straightened back up again and ran his fingers over the ends of her hair, scenting them.

“Wear that white dress I like tonight,” he said, when he sat back down on the bed. She finished putting on mascara without acknowledging that he’d spoken.

 

***

At dinner, he told her that he needed to go on a work trip. “I can leave you here with Klaus,” he said--that was the creepy gate Nazi, he’d been one of Strucker’s proteges--“or you can come with me? What would you like to do?”

She decided she might be able to actually escape from a location that didn’t have either a Klaus, an electric fence, or a bunch of fucking Dobermans. “I’d like to stay with you,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, looking pleased. “Good. Why?”

“Klaus is even fucking creepier than you are,” she said, giving him her most innocent smile.

 

That made him laugh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fracas does exist in perfume solid and bottle form: http://www.kafkaesqueblog.com/2013/01/08/perfume-review-robert-piguet-fracas-the-history-the-legend/. 
> 
> It's supposedly really strong and I've always wanted to try it. Madonna is reportedly a fan.
> 
> *thanks for all your comments and kudos.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bang Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

She was putting on her makeup--wrist shackles in place--the morning of the trip when he said, “I’m sorry we won’t be able to take the Impala. It’s too conspicuous.” She looked at it out the window of their shared bedroom. He parked it under a courtyard around the back; the red color was very visible. So was the tail light she’d tried to kick out. She’d never seen anything quite like it.

 

“What year was it again?” she asked.

“1959. You think it’s pretty?” he asked, sounding curious. It _was_ pretty, she thought. She’d never tell him that.

“How many Quentin Tarantino films have you seen?” she asked archly.

“All of them, sweetheart,” he said, laughing. “I’m happy that you’re gonna go with me. Klaus will be driving us.”

“Will I get shoes or am I supposed to wander barefoot in the snow like Ellie Mae, asshole?” she asked.

“I give you diamonds and you’re still mad I took away your boots? You hurt me,” he said, smiling. He didn’t look hurt. 

 

***

“I’ll be back,” he said when he locked her in the bathroom to change out of her pajamas. He was playing Lana Del Rey, which was another clue. He only listened to Lana in his good moods.  

Once she was dressed in the bathroom, he brought her something. At first she thought it was more stupid jewelry. But they turned out to be a pair of interlocking faceted handcuffs disguised as fancy bracelets.

“Another of Fury’s little inventions that he doesn’t tell the public about. The spring is in the middle and requires my thumbprint, but you just look like you’re being very decorous and ladylike, especially if I give you a purse to hold. I have a theory he had them made if he ever had to arrest Romanoff. But they go very nicely with your new shoes,” he said. The shoes were metallic, strappy, and had four-inch heels. He put them on her feet.

“You expect me to wear those shoes and this dress in the snow?” she asked him incredulously.

“I’ve got you a nice big coat,” he said. “We’ll just be transferring between vehicles anyway.” When she stumbled in the shoes as she stood, he caught her. Smiling, he told her to stay close to him. “I won’t let you fall, baby,” he said.

The coat was a fur coat, of course. Black and shiny. “I hate fur,” she told him. “What had to die to make you feel rich and important?”

“It’s not real, honey, I know how you love animals,” he said. “I bet you would even try to make friends with the Dobermans, wouldn’t you?” he asked, teasingly. She didn’t respond. He draped it over her shoulders, like a cloak. She couldn’t use the sleeves with her cuffs on. Finally, he put sunglasses on her face.

 

When she saw her reflection in the side of the SUV as they left the house--blonde hair, bandage dress, heels, huge coat, cuff jewelry--she swore.

“I look like a mob wife,” she said. “Or a Kardashian.”

“I think you look beautiful. Women are always so hard on themselves,” he said, shaking his head.

 

***

“I had to leave your phone at home, baby, I’m sorry. Let’s have some of my music,” he suggested when they were en route in the back of the SUV together. He pressed a few buttons on his phone and Nancy Sinatra started to play over the car speakers. It was that _Kill Bill_ song. “I think you’ll enjoy this trip,” he said.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“It’s a surprise,” he said.

 

Klaus delivered them to a small rural airport. He drove right up to the waiting plane.

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but I don’t have a passport,” Darcy said, panicking.

“Sure you do,” Rumlow said. “It’s in my pocket. Of course, you’re listed as Nina M. Vargas, but the security for private planes is very lax, sweetheart.” He got out of the SUV and pulled her across his seat. He leaned up against her ear as he helped her down. “It’s lucky you’re not some sort of wanted terrorist,” he said, chuckling.

“I could scream,” she said, desperate to stay on the ground.

“This is a very small airport. No one would hear you, honey. Everyone in a one-mile radius has been bribed into thinking you’re my slightly unruly Russian mail order wife and that they shouldn’t get near you,” he said, stroking her hair. “You tend to spit and scratch if not managed with a firm hand.”

 

She looked around. The handful of people in uniforms that she could see weren’t making eye contact. At all. “Oh God,” she said.

“Relax, baby,” he said, pulling her up the staircase with him inconspicuously, as if her heels made her unstable. “I’m just taking you to Nice, not Yemen. You could use a little sun.”

 

***

Once they were in the plane, he poured her champagne. “I’m very happy,” he said. “Are you happy?”

“I’d like you to choke on that,” she told him.

“Hmm,” he said, sighing. “What if you called Jane?” he asked. “Would that make you happy?”

“What are you trading for the phone call?” she asked shrewdly.

“There’s a beautiful dress that Julie Christie wears in _Shampoo._ I’m having a copy made for you. I’d like you to wear it dinner with me. Somewhere public. All you’d need to do is behave for a night,” he offered. “It’s a very nice restaurant.”

“I thought I wasn’t getting a fork until you could be sure I wouldn’t stab you?” she asked. They’d discussed it. Forks were second to shoes on the list.

He smiled. “I could make a one-night exception. Besides, you make a scene in a foreign country, assault me, and you may be arrested,” he said.

“I’d take my chances on a French prison,” she said.

“Would you?” he asked. “Here’s the thing, sweetheart. If you upset me and I still have you, I can move you someplace where no one will ever look for a rich foreigner’s sad girlfriend. Stash you in a compound somewhere like Morocco or Libya where it’s just us and the staff. No visitors to see you. I’d pay them well and they’re so poor. You wouldn’t blame them, would you? There’s so many sad women, what’s one more, when it comes to feeding their children?” he asked. He punched something into his phone.

 

There was a long moment of silence. She stared at him.

“I don’t want to,” he said. “It wouldn’t be fun for me if you’re not happy. But at least they have sat-tv now. Had a friend who lived in Beirut in the 90s. It was all _Welcome Back, Kotter_ dubbed in Arabic, honey.”

He handed her the phone. “I want you to be happy. Call Jane, tell her we’re on vacation and that you’re safe. I’ve already dialed the number.“

 

***

“Jane? It’s me,” she said. The line was a little fuzzy. She was sure there was a block on tracing the call. She was holding the phone two handed, because of her cuffs.

“Darcy? Where are you?” Jane said. She sounded frantic.

“I can’t say,” she said. Rumlow was looking at his tablet, still in the seat opposite. He nodded, without looking up. “He wanted me to tell you that we’re going on vacation. I’m still alive.”

“You’re not injured?” Jane asked quietly.

“Jane, even my fucking handcuffs look like jewelry,” she said bitterly. “He’s being very insistent about my happiness.”

 

He smiled then.

When she hung up the phone after her brief conversation with Jane, he looked up. “Good?” he said. “I’ve arranged for you to have a female security officer while we’re here. She’s meeting us at the airport. Goes everywhere you go, even the ladies room. I thought you might like to shop while I work. You’ve never to been to Europe.”

 

He took her cuffs off for the rest of the flight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The '59 Impala is, in fact, very pretty.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> La Vie en Rose.
> 
> (second ch. update for 6/19)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and support!

Any hope she had of befriending the female security officer died when she recognized her from New Mexico after they got off the plane in France. The tall, blue-eyed woman was SHIELDRA. Otherwise, she looked like a very efficient Junior League president or hospital administrator. A female Phil Coulson, but menacing. Her blue eyes were very cold. “Mrs. Vargas,” she said, “I’m Dana. I remember your friend Dr. Jane Foster. How are you?”

“Fine,” Darcy said faintly.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you knew Dana,” Rumlow said, smiling. “That makes things nice. So, you remember that she tased Thor?” he asked.

“I’ll take the necessary security precautions, sir,” Dana said crisply. “Now, why don’t I take her to lunch while you attend that meeting?”

Rumlow kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, baby,” he said. “Have a good time. Listen to “La Vie en Rose” for me.”

 

Darcy found herself shuffled into a vehicle with Dana and another man. Also, SHIELDRA, only fluent in French. He’d been born in Marseille, Dana explained. “What would you like to do first, Mrs. Vargas?” she said brightly. Like a freaking tour guide.

“Get out of these shoes,” Darcy answered honestly. They hurt.

***

 

She bought a lot of shoes with Rumlow’s credit cards. Most of them were ones she could run in, but Dana insisted on “date” shoes. The salespeople kept thinking she and Dana were mother and daughter. Darcy tried not to dry heave in the bathrooms. Finally, Dana told her she needed to eat.

Over some sort of seafood--Darcy didn’t care, it was the first time she’d eaten a meal without Rumlow staring at her for weeks and it did wonders for her appetite--Dana looked at her assessingly. French SHIELDRA was in the men’s room. “Do you want advice, Mrs. Vargas?” she asked.

“You want to give it to me,” Darcy said calmly.

“Make the best of your situation,” Dana said. “You’re young, you’re going to live a long time.”

“What does that mean?” Darcy asked, twirling her fork. She'd missed doing that.

“I have strict instructions to bring you back alive and as unharmed as possible, no matter what you try,” the woman said crisply. “He intends to keep you.”

“Remind me why that should be reassuring, _maman_?” Darcy snarked, using the salesclerks’ French for mom. She’d heard it all day.

“If he likes you, it will be better for you,” the older woman said. “You should know, eventually your friends will stop looking for you. His continued favor will be all you have to depend on.”

“ _Merci, maman,”_ Darcy said sarcastically. Even Dana knew enough French to change the subject.

Dana micromanaged all the rest of her purchases that afternoon while Darcy ate everything that she could conceivably buy from street vendors. “Une autre glace, Madame?” French SHIELDRA started offering, whenever he saw a cart.

 

***

“Did you have fun today?” Brock asked when she arrived. She’d thought they were staying at a hotel, but it was actually a boat. Within a few minutes, they were moving out into the sea. All her purchases had been delivered already. She realized he was looking at her intently, as if a lot hinged on her answer. She tried for breezy.

“I let Dana pick out what she thought I needed and I ate food by myself. They call ice cream ‘une glace,’ here, by the way,” she said. “I had about five.” He laughed.

“I’m glad you had fun, baby,” he said, “come sit.” He patted the seat next to him. They were on a deck facing the ocean as the boat left the harbor.

“Did you know I can’t swim, you fucker?” she asked him sweetly.

“I might,” he said. He knelt down and took her shoes off. Was it that he had a foot thing, she thought, not for the first time. He returned to sit beside her. “The rumor in your old SHIELD file is that you also have a terror of the film _Jaws_ and that it’s some sort of advanced phobia that ended you up in the desert with Jane. That’s why you prefer showers to tubs.”

“No, I needed the credits, actually,” she said, “but this sets you back some. You made a tragic error. Dana has spent all day telling me that you’d be a wonderful partner and I should be nice to you. People kept thinking she was my mother. She has that PTA mom thing.”

“Damn,” he said, chuckling. “You mean the PTA was making headway and I fucked up?”

“Royally, you asshole,” she lied. “France doesn’t hurt, either, but I hate the damn ocean.”

“What can I do to make it up to you?” he asked, reaching out and touching a bit of her hair. “I’d turn us around and check us into a hotel, but I’m meeting with people who prefer privacy. They’d insist on the boat and I don’t want to leave you in Nice. I’d be lonely,” he said. "You have more freedom on the boat, too." He was letting her be unshackled now that they were at sea; he'd told her on the plane that she could have more privileges since they were vacationing.

“I’d feel better if I had my own room to go to, if we’re having those kinds of visitors,” she replied. She also thought she’d sleep better if there were walls between them.

“All right,” he said. “I can live with that for a little while. Anything else?” He put his arm behind her.

“Utensils and the ability to eat my own food,” she said, leaning back into his embracing arm. He brightened at that. She’d been paying attention to Dana in a different way.

“As long as we have our meals together,” he countered. "I might be persuaded to give you spoons and dull knives and forks."

“What about your business associates? Don’t I present a complication if they recognize me?” she asked, trying to sound more thoughtful.

“I’m not planning on eating with them,” he said. He reached out and stroked the back of her neck. “But I’ll make sure they don’t see you. That okay?”

“That’s acceptable,” she lied again, trying not to recoil from his touch. He smiled.

"I'm glad you're realizing this can be pleasant for both of us," he said, resting his hand on her neck. "People usually have more fun on vacation. Do all kinds of new things. I'll have to give Dana a bonus for her motherly advice."

 

It was very quiet out in the ocean.

 

“What’s your opinion on the Bond franchise?” he asked her suddenly, after they'd lapsed into silence.

“Dalton is underrated,” she said.

“Let’s go in and watch a movie,” he said, “you’ll forget you’re in the water.” When he picked _Never Say Never Again_ , she looked at him shrewdly. “What?” he asked.

“It’s Basinger, then? I thought Nicholson as the Joker was just your life plan,” she told him.

He seemed to find that funny. 

 

***

The next morning in her new room, she asked Dana to google something for her. “You want me to google what?” Dana asked incredulously.

“I’m trying to follow your advice, _maman,_ figure out what he likes,” Darcy said.

“According to this website on celebrity perfumes, Kim Basinger wears something called Fracas?” Dana said, sounding unsure.

“Uh-huh. Well, then I suggest you get me clothes that look like anything she’s ever worn in a movie that a man would like, _maman_ ,” Darcy said archly.

French SHIELDRA was dispatched to contact a personal shopper in Nice immediately; Darcy began to wonder if the SHIELDRAs were just as invested in keeping him happy as she was pretending to be. She'd slept better than she had in weeks without the sound of his breathing. Darcy felt ready to plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, they haven't stopped looking. We'll shift to Steve & Jane's POV next chapter.
> 
> There is a small, but fairly major plot Easter egg in the story for classic film fans, but I don't want to spoil the surprise. It has to do with Rumlow picking the alias Nina "Vargas" for her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You Belong To Me/ The Love You Save (May Be Your Own)
> 
> (update 1 of 2 for 6/20)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all your kind comments and kudos!

Back in the world, Jane Foster was terrified. Thor was still searching for Heimdall and had discovered that Loki was impersonating Odin. Thankfully, they’d finally tracked Odin down and returned him to the throne. But Heimdall and a segment of Asgardians were still wandering in one of the Nine Realms. Thor had been forced to beg for help from various enemies of Asgard and had--in Tony’s words-- “had his ass handed to him” more than once. Everyone’s nerves were frayed.

 

It also meant Jane was working in her lab with the loathsome Loki for company. Thank God she also had Scott Lang and the Wombats. They were keeping her sane with silly conversation during the day. At night she went to the gym and hit things with Steve.

“Why is he here again?” Scott asked, gesturing at the sullen Loki.

“Exiled for treason,” Jane said. “Another time.”

“Can’t you help us with witch stuff, like that Strange dude?” Luis asked. “His magic is off the chain.”

“I’m not a witch,” Loki said, looking offended.

“You dress like one,” Dave muttered. He’d picked that up from Thor.

“I don’t know why you’re all so bothered anyway. What’s one near-sighted, tiny Midgardian? Let the terrorist have a pet. You can get other assistants. This planet is positively crawling with useless humans,” Loki said, giving the Wombats a look.

 

Jane punched him in the nose then. She had a lot of punches she’d thought of giving Rumlow. Steve had taught her how to use his bags. Loki went down with a thump. A little blood escaped his nose.

 

“I’m not a fan of fighting, but you deserved that,” Scott said to Loki calmly.

“Dayum, little doctor,” Dave said at the same time. “I need Captain Steve to train me, too.”

“Captain Steve is very good,” Luis said cheerfully, offering Loki a hand up. Loki hissed at him. “But what’s up with your hair, man? It’s always so greasy. You look like my friend Mike. He went through this phase where he slicked his hair all back and wanted to be called Corleone…”

“Dracula Mike?” Dave asked.

“Yeah,” Luis said, beaming. “Did I ever tell you about that time my cousin Tina slapped him?”

“Thor’s hair is very nice,” Scott mused, patting Jane’s arm comfortingly. “He always looks clean. He's gonna find that Heimdall guy.”

 

***

Steve arrived from a mission over the Canadian border later. “We found where he was keeping her until recently. It’s an old HYDRA safehouse in Quebec,” he told Jane. “Tony kept the guard from committing suicide, but he doesn’t know were they are. They flew out of a private airport a few days ago. I’m headed to Europe tonight. We think it may be Eastern Europe, based on HYDRA’s strongholds.”

Steve looked at Jane. “She was just hours away, this whole time,” he said, flexing his jaw. His whole face was tight-looking.

“What is it?” Jane said.

“I’ve got her phone,” Steve said. “There was a cloaking mechanism over the whole house. It was still hooked into the house speakers. It looks like he was playing her music.” He handed the phone to Jane. She looked at the screen. The Starktunes app was paused on a song. Jo Stafford’s “You Belong To Me.”

“She told me he hadn’t physically harmed her. Did he have her lie?” Jane asked. Steve looked pained.

“Jane,” he began warningly, “some things, it’s just better if you don’t know.”

“Tell me,” Jane said.

“It looks like they shared a bedroom,” Steve said quietly. “There were no signs of blood, but there were shackles and a latch on one of the beds. I found more photos of her on the phone, too.”

“Let me see them,” Jane said.

He’d taken pictures of her as she sat at a vanity, doing her makeup, in shackles. She didn’t have bruises or cuts, but she didn’t look like herself.  There were other photos of her in jewelry and strange clothes. In one, his hand was in the frame, brushing her blonde bangs out of her eyes.

“Steve,” Jane said, “I need you to find her.”

“I know,” he said. “Tony is running facial recognition on these now with Jarvis. He thinks we could get a match. But I’m going now. I want to be as close as possible if there’s a match.”

 

***

“You look beautiful,” he told her when she showed up to dinner in one of the new dresses. It was basically a white slip. He liked white. She’d left her hair wavy and didn’t bother with shoes. “Did you pick that because you thought I’d like it?” he asked, pulling out a chair for her. They were eating on the deck. “Dana and I had a nice chat today.”

“I sent someone for things I thought you might like,” she said, sitting down. “Do you?”

“I like that very much,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Here. Take mine. Would you like some of this?” He slid his fork and knife across the table and gestured to what he was eating. Previously, she’d been allowed her own spoons, but nothing else. “I know you don’t like when I feed you.”

“It’s something in the being tied down,” she said. “Does things to my appetite.”

“What if you weren’t?” he asked.

She let him feed her and he seemed more happy than she’d ever seen him. “I was worried,  honey, that you’d never come around. I could live with that, but this is better,” he said. “It’s so much better for me when our relationship works. So much.” 

After dinner, he asked her to dance. He’d been playing music all day. “Which Quentin movie is this from?” she guessed. It was "The Love You Save May Be Your Own.”

“You know me, baby. That's Joe Tex. The car one,” he said, twirling her in a circle. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her close. She had to repress a shudder. “I have meetings all day for a week, but I hope we can do this every night. And we still have that dinner in Nice at the end,” he said.

“Do I ever get to see what my Julie Christie dress will look like?” she asked.

“It’s a surprise, honey,” he said. “I think we’ll check into a hotel that night. I want you to be comfortable. I miss sleeping with you already. I miss the sound of your breathing when I can’t sleep.”

“I’d like that,” Darcy lied, as he nuzzled her hair.

“Do you think you’d like a share a bed with me?” he asked carefully.

“I might be persuaded,” she told him. Her plan depended on this trip and him being confident that she warming to him.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he said. His voice sounded oddly husky and emotional. “Would you mind taking some pictures in your new dress for Cap? That way, everyone will know you’re okay.”

He took pictures of her leaning against the boat railing. “Your skin just glows in the candlelight, sweetheart. You’ve gotten some sun,” he said.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The car one is "Death Proof," obvs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good Love, Bad Love
> 
> (update 2 of 2 for 6/20)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all your comments and kudos.

Between breakfast, lunch, and dinner with Brock, she spent all her time tucked away on one of the smaller decks. Dana sometimes sat with her and talked, but mostly she had an iPod and books from her ostensible terrorist boyfriend. He was busy meeting with the series of creeps who kept docking near them and getting on the boat. They never saw her watching them from above. Brock seemed to like the way the sun was making her hair blonder. She wore more white to highlight her tan. He’d loaded the iPod with his favorite songs as well as hers. She listened to a lot of Amy Winehouse.

 

“Sweetheart,” he told her one night, “you’re so good for me. Your old acquaintances raided the safe house.”

“How’s that good?” she asked, her heart breaking. God, she missed Jane.

“They didn’t get the Impala. Klaus had taken it in to fix that tail light,” he said. “My girl saved my car.”

“I want to ride in it one day,” she lied. “Not in the trunk.”

He smiled at her. “Of course you will, baby. We’ll take pictures. Lots of them.”

 

When they were dancing to another of those Tarantino songs--Eddie Floyd’s “Good Love, Bad Love”--after dinner, he stopped her. “I’ve got an idea. Do a little dance with me, baby. We can send Cap and Stark a video.” He had Dana hold the phone.

 

***

When Tony got the video and series of new photos of Darcy on the boat, he sent it to Steve in Budapest. “She’s still alive and I recognize that view when whoever is holding the camera turns it towards the harbor for a second. I think it’s the fucking South of France,” the billionaire said. “We’ve been looking in the wrong places.”

“Any messages for me?” Steve asked tightly.

“The subject line is ‘Doesn’t she look happy?’,” Tony said.

“Nat and I will take the quinjet. What towns are the likeliest?” Steve asked.

“Jarvis thinks Nice or Monte Carlo. There’s some chatter that a lot of ex-SHIELDRA people have been gambling in the casinos,” Tony said.

 

***

The morning they were going to go into Nice, he finally showed her what the Julie Christie dress looked like on his phone. French SHIELDRA had left to pick it up and would be back that day. The dress was all dark sequins, high in the front, and almost totally backless. “It’s beautiful,” she said honestly, “I’m surprised you don’t want my hair like that, too.” Julie Christie had a swingy blonde bob with thick bangs. It was, she thought, the kind of haircut women in Tarantino movies had. It had given her an idea.

“You would do that, if I asked you?” he said, looking at her with an intense gleam in his eye.

“Isn’t it a good haircut for a girl to have if her boyfriend drives an Impala?” she asked. “Dana could take me into Nice.”

“You want to look pretty for me?” he said, looking moved.

“I want this to be a good night,” she said honestly.

  
***

When the hairdresser was done making her look like it was 1963, she looked at Dana. “Take some pictures and send them to him. He’ll be happy.”

He was so happy that he actually called Dana back and made her put Darcy on the phone so he could tell her how much he liked it. After that, she suggested they get some lunch. With French SHIELDRA gone, she ordered lunch as the person who spoke the most French. Dana had taken Spanish, she’d told Darcy during their first day shopping. Perhaps it had slipped Dana’s mind that she’d also mentioned being allergic to several things to French SHIELDRA in front of Darcy.

By the time they’d returned to the boat, Dana was starting to flag. She would be too ill to go with them back to Nice that night. While she was hurling her guts out in the bathroom, Darcy stole half the sleeping tablets out of her purse as she got her anti-nausea pills. “I hope you feel better tonight, D,” she said. She'd just planned to get Dana out of the way; the sleeping pills were a delightful bonus.

Brock was so pleased with Darcy’s appearance that he paid it no mind. “We’ll just take Faison”--that was French SHIELDRA’s given name--“with us tonight, honey. He knows how to be discreet,” Brock told her as he took photos of her in the new dress.

“He won’t be in the room with us, will he? I don’t think I could relax if he could hear us,” she told him, straightening his tie and smiling. “Especially a man. That’s worse than Dana somehow.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Brock said, taking her hand. “I know how you feel. We’ll put him down the hall or something. He’ll hang back all night.”

  
  
  
***

When they arrived at the restaurant, there were photographers outside. Dana had mentioned they’d use a back door because of that.

“Do you think I look like someone they’d take pictures of now?” she asked Brock, patting her hair self-consciously.

“I think you look like a movie star, sweetheart. Let’s get out in front,” he said. Over French SHIELDRA’s objections, he took her past them and let her stop.

“What’s your name?” one called in French. “Who are you?”

“Mrs. Nina Vargas,” French SHIELDRA said flatly in French. “Her husband is a very important person in international circles.”

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Brock said, holding her hands. “You’re beautiful, honey.”

She beamed at him, standing up on her toes to kiss him. When she pulled away, he looked at her hotly.

Then she smiled at the photographers brightly and looked directly into their cameras. “My husband spoils me,” she said. “Make sure you get photos of this dress. He had it made.”

She could hear the cameras going off. Brock let it go on for several minutes before they went inside. He made sure they got her from every angle.

 

She planned to make this dinner go long enough that someone might upload their digital photos to a wire-service database. Jarvis, she knew, scraped databases for Tony 24/7.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read somewhere that Johnny Depp had a copy of Julie Christie's dress made for Kate Moss, so that's the inspiration for this little plot thread. It's A Look. Just google for pictures.
> 
>  
> 
> (By the end of this thing, Darcy's hair is so messed up, man)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Thanks for all the comments and kudos! Updated at 9pm 6/20. I was gonna wait until after midnight EST to post this, but then I realized it's after midnight in France right now so....

“I don’t think Faison’s happy,” she said to Brock as they sat down. “We were naughty and broke security protocols. Don’t you just love the way French people do that disgusted face, baby?”

“Yeah?” Brock raised an eyebrow in amusement; Faison did appear pouty and sullen. He called him over and told him to do perimeter security for the night. “I can handle anything inside,” he said, patting the gun at his hip. The crowd looked like old rich people and tourists, Darcy thought sourly, of course he could.

But it had worked out better than she planned. With Faison headed to the parking lot, it would be easier to drug Brock with Dana’s pills. They were in her purse.

“You look so fucking beautiful tonight,” Brock told her. They were in one of those old-school half circle booths, so she slid next to him. He smiled in response.

“Can I have champagne?” she asked. “Will you have a drink with me to celebrate?”

“You know I will,” he said, giving her that terrifying half-smile. “We’ve got so much happiness ahead of us, sweetheart.” He ordered a bottle of champagne for her and something for himself.

He rubbed her bare back as they waited for their food. The hardest part was pretending to enjoy it and lean against him. “Can I kiss you, baby?” he asked her suddenly.

“Mm-hmm,” she said. He kissed her for a long time, his hands dipping low on her back. Then he finished his drink in a few swigs.

“What hotel are we staying at tonight?” she asked. He paused.

“I thought I would have Faison drive us to Monte Carlo after dinner. It’s about thirty minutes. We can stay at one of the big hotel casinos, just like in your old movies. You like that?” he asked.

“Sounds fun,” she lied. _Fuck_. She’d thought it would be a local hotel. She’d planned to put the sleeping pills in his drink if he went to the bathroom, but it would totally fuck up her plan if he passed out in the car and then Faison had to carry him into the room and hung around watching her suspiciously. She needed Brock to pass out after they got there. Her plan was to have him send Faison out on a pretext first--ice? cigarettes?--and get the fuck out when Brock was too drowsy to chase her.

He kept his hand on her back as they ate, but she noticed he was drinking a lot and had gotten quiet. “Your food okay, baby?” she asked, rubbing his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Nothing wrong with it. That feels nice. Don’t stop.”

 

***

They gambled for several hours. He seemed surprisingly into it and she soon realized there were several of his associates staying in the hotel. She wished she looked less conspicuous. All the other SHIELDRA girls were more generic blondes, not 1963 Sassoon-bobbed Tarantino blondes. It might make it more dangerous when she ran tonight. _Still_ , she thought, _fuck it. These guys will just shoot me. It’ll be preferable to...whatever Brock wants to do tonight and after_. He kept slipping his hands around the edges of her dress’s back cut-out, caressing the unexposed skin.

“You wanna go upstairs?” he said to her finally, setting down his drink.

“Yeah, baby,” she said. They cashed out their chips and he gave her a wad of cash “to buy something pretty with.” He looked oddly at the money when he said it. French SHIELDRA trailed behind them at a mandated 10-foot radius.

“Stay in the hallway,” Brock told him when they got to the suite. “O’Leary’s guys are on the lower floors and you know I don’t trust that fucker.”

“Yes, monsieur,” French SHIELDRA said. “I will be aware.”

***

When they went into the suite, Brock looked at Darcy. “Do you want some wine?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Champagne, if I can?” She’d nursed two glasses of champagne at the restaurant and Diet Dr. Pepper at the gaming tables trying to keep her head, but he was consuming in quantity tonight. She thought he might be a little drunk, the way he was behaving. She hoped he wasn’t an angry drunk. He’d never drank this much in front of her before.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he said. ”I wouldn’t mind watching you drink soda out of a straw again, though. That was pretty sexy. I’ll get some for the boat.”

She didn’t comment, just walked out onto the balcony. She heard him start to play music: The Shirelles' "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” He came up behind her and set her drink on the railing at her elbow. The city twinkled below. The breeze was warm in the dark.

"I like this song," she said.

“Me, too. How would you feel if we didn’t go back to the states for a while?” he asked, standing very close. He was almost blocking her in. “I’ve got to find us another place to live first.”

“Where would we go?” she asked in what she hoped was a neutral voice.

“The Greek islands are nice this time of year,” he said. “We could just stay on the boat. Or we could stay here. I have lots of friends in Monaco.”

“No taxes,” she said.

“No and no easy extradition, either. I could buy you lots of jewels here.” He stroked her back. “Could work, too. Set you up in a villa, let this be our home, baby. How would you like that?” 

“Sounds like a dream,” she said. She was thinking nightmare, but it was almost the truth.

“You think so?” he asked. His voice sounded a little choked and strange. He reached around her for his drink on the railing and finished it, setting it down a little shakily. “That makes me happy,” he said. “You’ve been so good to me and I appreciate that, baby. I appreciate it more than you could ever imagine. I never thought anyone would want to make me happy again. And you’re so perfect. Beautiful.”

He leaned down and kissed the spot at the top of her back where the cutout on her dress began. She put her hands on the railing to steady herself. Natasha had taught her to kick people, but she wasn’t sure if she could kick backwards that strongly with him so close. The railing kept her from pulling her knee forward enough for momentum. He started kissing down her back then, until he was kneeling behind her with his face pressed against the base of her spine. 

“I’ve always wanted to ask you how he was, but I knew you weren’t that kind of girl, the kind to kiss and tell,” he said suddenly. 

“What?” she said. “What do you mean?” 

“Cap,” he said slowly. “Is he good?”

“Are you actually asking me if he’s good in bed right now?” she said, half torn between wanting to kick him away in revulsion and confusion.

“Is he?” he asked softly. He’d put his hands around her hips now and was resting his face against her low back. He was breathing a little oddly.

“I don’t actually know,” she said truthfully, “he’s old-fashioned. The most intimate we ever got was dancing in those photos you saw. He’s never even kissed me. You’ve done more with me tonight than Steve has.” She didn’t know why she said it, but it wasn’t a lie.

He froze. There was a long moment of silence behind her. Brock finally made a strange sound. It was somewhere between a laugh and sob.  

“Oh, honey,” he whispered, his face still up against her back. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I never knew. Who would have thought? You’re so beautiful and he looked so in love in those photos. Who wouldn’t?”  

“You’re sorry?” Darcy said, playing along.

He started to sob then. “Mr. Perfect. The golden boy with the flawless body. He won’t fuck you and I can’t. You’re so good to me and I can’t. I can't. Ever since Cap dropped that building on me, I haven’t been able to. It’s one of the things he took from me. That’s why I took you. I wanted him to know what it felt like to want and want and _want._ ”

He pressed his shaking lips against her and she could feel his tears running hotly down her back. “I thought you would figure it out,” he said, in a gasping voice, “when I never touched you that way, even when you liked me. I couldn't bring myself to tell you. All those nights in that bedroom, listening to you breathe and just wanting you so badly, sweetheart. Tonight in the restaurant when I kissed you. It kills me. I still can't. Even though I love you so much. I do love you. But we'll never have that. Can you live with that?”

“Why don’t we talk about it?” she said, softly, turning to face him. "There's all kinds of affection." She stroked his hair gently. He looked up at her with the glazed and terrified look of a crying toddler.

"Yeah," he said in a choked voice. "I'd like that, sweetheart."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel like Crossbones's motive for hating Steve is a little poorly, um, fleshed out in CA:CW? Like, isn't he better off if he feels no pain? And he *seems* to do his mercenary work okay, so what's with the line that's like I want revenge for "what you took from me when you dropped that building" at Steve? Does he just mean his looks? There has to be *more* to that, right?
> 
> There are some stills of CA: CW--in Rumlow's suicide vest moment/"when you gotta go"--where it looks like he's weeping as Cap stands over him, so that fed into this scene: https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelcinematicuniverse/images/9/9b/Crossbones-YouGottaGo-Smile.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20161127200218


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's A Man's Man's World
> 
> (update 1 of 3 for 6/21 @ noon EST)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all your lovely comments and kudos!

At the facility, Tony Stark was changing suits to fly to Europe again when he got an alert from Jarvis. Facial recognition software had matched Darcy’s face to someone who’d been to dinner in Nice and had their photograph taken by paparazzi. He immediately forwarded the location to Steve and Nat, who’d been canvassing Riviera hotels in Cannes. Clint was leading a separate team with Sam in Italy, just in case they were wrong about the coastline. He had Hank and Scott with him, too.

Everyone still at the facility gathered around as Tony pulled up the wire service photos: Jane, Bruce, Pepper, the Wombats, even Loki.

“Holy shit,” Tony said. “It’s her. He’s done something else to her hair and he’s parading her around.”

“This is so sick,” Jane whispered. Bruce put his arm around her.

“I think it’s quite a fetching look,” Loki announced. “It does appear that she is kissing him in that one.” This time Luis punched him and he decided to stay down.

***

 

“Oh, God,” Brock said, doing that strange hiccup-sob again as she helped him into armchair near the balcony doors. “I--I--didn’t want tonight to be like this. Don’t look at me, don’t,” he said, raking a hair through his hair.

“Do you want another drink?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said in a broken voice. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

When she came back after dissolving some of the pills into his glass, he had his gun pressed to his temple. He was rubbing it in a circular motion. She froze for a second in terror.

“Brock?” she said softly. “What are you doing?”

“It hurts, baby. It hurts so bad,” he said.

“I want you to give me that,” she said firmly. She was aiming for Dana’s crisp tone. Her voice only a shook a little. She set the drink down in front of him and pried the gun out of his hand. Then she put it in her purse and set that as close to the door as she thought she could without arousing his suspicions.  

 

When she returned to him, he was crying quietly. “Hey,” she said, touching his hair. “It’s okay. Here, drink this, you’ll feel better.” With shaking hands, she held the glass to his mouth.

When he’d drank half of it, he looked up at her. “Are you gonna leave? Now that you know?” he asked. His voice sounded raw.

“You think I’d leave someone for that? Someone I cared about?,” she asked him cautiously, still holding the drink. Her heart was thudding in her chest like a drum. He took the glass from her and downed it all.

“You’d still have me, even if I can’t?” he asked finally.

“Do you really love me?” she replied quietly.

“So much,” he said, smiling suddenly through his tears. He reached out and touched her hip, cupping it softly. “C’mere,” he said, pulling her down into his lap. “I’ll treat you good, baby. You’ll have everything you want,” he said. “I know we had a rough start, but I’ll make it up to you.” He stroked her back in long motions. “You think you can get over Cap?”

She was very careful when she replied. “I have a secret, too,” she said, leaning closer.

“What, sweetheart?” he said.

“He was never my boyfriend,” she said. “We just had the one dance.”

“You’re kidding,” he said. She shook her head. “Why didn’t you say?” he asked.

“I was afraid you’d lose interest in me,” she told him. “I pretended to make you happy.”

“You liked me more?” he said, sounding delighted. He kissed her again. She hoped none of the drugs in his drink transferred to her mouth. She was relieved when he kissed her jawline and up her ear instead.

“That feels good,” she said, when he ran his tongue over her earlobe and into the little grooves of her ear. He grinned. She was breathing a little roughly.

“I can still kiss just fine, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. It wasn't a lie.

“You want more champagne, baby?” he asked. She nodded.

“Mm-hmm. I’ll get it,” she said. She switched the music to Etta James. Her drugged glass clinked as Etta sang about it being a man's world.

“Tell me about how you feel,” he said, when she’d brought the drinks back. He gestured for her to sit in his lap again. “Can you forgive me?” he asked, stroking the top of her knee.

“Yeah, baby,” she lied. “You make me feel so good it almost scares me. I’m a different girl now,” she said.

“A different girl,” he said. “Yeah, you are.”

 

Several drinks later--she’d dosed them all with Dana’s pills--Brock was babbling and sobbing like James Dean at the end of _Giant._ He was one of those maudlin, huggy drunks, praise God. “I just love you so, so much, baby,” he was saying in a slurred voice when she decided it was the right moment. “I can’t believe you wa-wanna stay with me. I love you.”

“We need more ice,” she said to French SHIELDRA when she opened the door. She shoved the champagne bucket at him.

“Madame, I cannot leave--” Faison said, before Brock mumbled from his chair.

“Get it,” he slurred faintly. “French asshole.”

Faison looked stubborn. “Madame,” he began and said several things in irritated French. She listened for a moment and then put her hand up to silence him. Brock had finally started to snore.

“He’s having a bad night,” Darcy said. “I’d make myself scarce. He might be upset if he wakes up and you haven’t followed orders. It’s a sensitive issue at the moment.”

“Why?” Faison asked.

She handed him a bit of the cash and whispered, “Comment vous dites ‘impotent’ en français?” 

With a look of masculine horror that transcended language, French SHIELDRA bolted for the elevator. She shut the door quietly and looked at Brock. He was passed out in the chair, his head tilted all the way back over the edge. 

***

She took her purse, the wad of cash, and walked right out the door. At the lobby, she asked about a taxi and got one waiting at the curb.

 

The driver let her use his phone to call Jane. “I’m okay, Jane,” she said calmly. “My hair’s all fucked up, but I’m okay.” When Darcy told her about her plan to buy an overnight train ticket to Paris with Brock’s cash to hide until Tony got there, Jane explained that Steve was looking for her in Nice.

“We saw the wire service photos,” Jane said. “He’s checking all the hotels with Nat. He really didn’t hurt you?”

“About that,” Darcy said, sighing. “He’ll probably be back. He thinks we’re in love.”

“What?” Jane said.

 

Steve was standing in the street in Nice when the cab pulled up thirty minutes later. It was the happiest thing she’d ever seen. She threw herself into his arms and finally started to cry.

“You got away,” he whispered. “Jane told us that you were okay. I was so afraid he’d hurt you.”

 

***

“How did you escape?” Nat asked, when they were safely boarding the quinjet.

“Is there such a thing as reverse Stockholm Syndrome?” Darcy asked, figuring Nat would know. “Where the captor loves the hostage?”

“I do not know. I never loved my hostages,” Nat said. “But I do not think your hair looks that bad. It is actually very distinctive and stylish. Hope would like it,” she said, before they took off.

Steve wouldn’t let go of her hand. He looked worried. “You think he’ll be back?” he asked.

“It’s possible,” she said. “Have Jarvis put out an alert for a ‘59 Impala. Red with a repaired tail light.”

 

When they landed at the facility, Jane ran towards her and enveloped her in a warm hug. Jane hugs were the best hugs. Steve’s hugs might be second, she was thinking to herself, when she saw Loki lingering behind Jane.

“What the hell is he doing here?” she asked.

“Treason exile again,” Jane said. “I’m so glad you’re okay. What do you need? Food? Tony’s therapist? Sleep?”

“I’d like to get out of this,” she said, looking down. She was still in the Julie Christie dress.

As they passed him, Loki gave her an interested once over. “That’s a very lovely dress, Midgardian,” he said. She ignored him. Steve--lagging behind them out of politeness--gave him a hard look.

“She’s been through enough. Shut your damn mouth or I’ll get that muzzle of Thor’s,” Steve said, threateningly. Loki flinched slightly.

“Sociopaths,” Darcy said to Jane, “are exactly the same in all the realms. But I’ve never heard Steve cuss before.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Steve calling it Thor's muzzle and having a "language!" moment in his stress.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Don't You Do Right?
> 
> (update 2 of 3, 6/21)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I own nothing. Thanks for all the comments and kudos! Y'all are great.

Unfortunately, Clint’s secondary team just missed Brock. He’d fled on the boat sometime that morning while they were moving in from Italy. Occasionally, Darcy hoped that he hadn’t murdered French SHIELDRA and Dana for letting her get away, but they were Nazis working for a known terrorist.

Tony made Darcy stay close to the facility and put something in the system about Impalas. Darcy thought he might actually have an alert set up for single, scarred men buying Quentin Tarantino tickets. It was a good thing Jarvis never got tired.

Once her bloodstream had returned to its normal state of 65% Pop-Tarts and coffee and her hair was brown again, Darcy looked at her fake ID papers and laughed.

“What is it?” Jane said, looking up with concern from the table in the common area. Steve came over immediately.

“I’ll be damned,” Darcy said. “These have me as Nina Maria Vargas. Was he trying to get me to guess?”

“I don’t understand,” Steve said seriously.

“It’s a 1950s movie reference, Steve,” Darcy said. “Ava Gardner played a woman named Maria Vargas in _The Barefoot Contessa_. We watched it together once in Quebec.” Maria Vargas hadn’t liked shoes and her husband was impotent. Sadly, for Maria, who'd been really in love; less so for herself, Darcy thought. Hadn't Maria Vargas even met the husband at a casino on the Riviera?

“Guess what?” Jane asked, confused.

“Who knows?” Darcy said. “That he loves the fifties?” Darcy hadn’t told everyone about the whole impotency thing, just that she’d drugged him and bolted. She'd saved that for her private therapist. It was too weird. Steve might feel even more worried about Brock stalking her if she’d told him about that hotel conversation. He was already staying close. She didn’t mind that one bit, but she didn’t want Steve to stress more than he already was.

 

***

 

This was especially important since they had to break news to Tony. She sat him and Steve down and told both men what Rumlow said. At first, Tony didn’t want to believe it. But Steve admitted that the Zola software at Fort Le High had hinted about something with Howard and Maria. Darcy made Tony come with her to group PTSD therapy. To her surprise, Steve came, too. They managed to overcome a rough patch. One day, Tony made an announcement.

“I want you to go get Barnes and bring him home, Capiscle. Let’s end this part of HYDRA’s legacy and then go after Scarface together?” Tony offered. He wanted to get Rumlow. He may have thought Bucky Barnes would want a piece of that action, too.

 

Several months later--after he started to believe her when she said that she was fine--Tony had a big, cozy dinner at the facility for everyone. Darcy flirted shamelessly with Hank Pym when he arrived and cajoled him into promising to dance with her again sometime. She’d insisted Tony play some of her music, too. Brock wasn’t taking that away.

That was why Peggy Lee was singing “Why Don’t You Do Right” and Loki was pretending to be bored as they sat down around the table. Darcy could tell Loki was desperate for attention. He’d be magicking something on fire in about two minutes. Thor had returned and was happy as a puppy to find out she was okay. It had made Loki wildly jealous.

“I wanted to talk to you about Steve,” Jane said to her in a low voice.

“Yeah?” Darcy said, looking curiously at Jane, pulling her attention away from any tricks-in-planning.

“He and Sharon weren’t a couple. She’s dating Maria Hill now. They’re really cute together, pretending to be intimidating while they send each other love notes. I think all of HR is more scared of Maria when she turns on a dime from candy hearts to steely,” Jane said.

Darcy laughed. “That’s what they were doing in the CIA-hates-Stark meeting yesterday?” she asked.

“Yep,” Jane said, “but Steve told me recently he wanted to ask you out before all this happened and now he thinks you won’t be able to look at him without thinking about it.”

Darcy looked over at Steve at the opposite end of the room.

He was helping Wanda Maximoff bring food to the table. She hadn’t forgotten his face in Nice: he’d been exhausted, but deeply relieved to see her. He’d sat with her the whole trip home, holding her hand and looking at her like it was a miracle. And now he was worried she’d blame him somehow.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” she said. “Not at all. None of this is Steve’s fault. I’d date that adorable WWII relic in a heartbeat.” Ten feet away, Steve slowed fractionally and stumbled a little. He almost dropped the potatoes. 

“Did you hear that, Steve? How’s next Saturday?” Darcy called. “He’s got that good hearing,” she told Jane. “Like a bat.”

Steve beamed at her then. “I do actually hear very well,” he said. “Saturday would be great.”

She’d always known that about him. He tried to hide it from people to be kind. Just like he was still taking Peggy flowers every Sunday. He was one of the good ones.

 

-THE END-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone be interested in more stories set in this universe, or nah? Leave me a comment, please.
> 
> Also, the next chapter functions as your mid-credits scene.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I Believe I'm Gonna Make It
> 
> This is your Marvel mid credits scene
> 
> (update 3 of 3, 6/21)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing. Thanks for all your comments and kudos

“I’m headed to my private sesh, Janey,” Darcy called to her one afternoon as she headed out of the lab. She put on her new jacket.

“Okay, I’ll see you at dinner,” Jane replied, looking up from her Science!. “Or do you have a date with Steve?” she asked.

“That’s tomorrow,” Darcy said. "Tonight, he and Bucky are watching baseball. Bucky's finally talked Steve into forgiving the Dodgers for the whole moving thing."

***

Scott Lang was on the elevator. “What floor?” he asked.

“Three,” she told him. He paused for a second.

“I keep thinking you’re Hope,” he admitted. She’d dyed her hair back it’s normal brown, but had kept the long bob and the bangs for the moment. Tony offered to get her really nice extensions, but she thought fake hair might itch. With her hair back to its normal color, she was starting to like it. She’d even gone shopping with Nat after their training sessions, looking for clothes she could--theoretically, anyway--kick someone’s ass in, should they happen to show up. Nat had advised she wear pants and things with stretch. Tony had upgraded her taser to a more dangerous model. She’d named the new one Wanda, after Wanda Jackson.

“Everyone does now. Why are they so scared of her?” Darcy asked curiously.

“I may have told them she can hit really hard,” Scott said, chuckling and rubbing his nose.

The elevator reached her floor.

“Bye, Scott, I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, giving him a little wave.

 

***

Her therapist was waiting in a conference room. During the session, she told her about Jane’s worries. “She thinks I might have a little touch of Stockholm Syndrome,” Darcy said.

“Why is that?” the therapist asked.

“She says I do things a little differently now.”

“What things?” the therapist asked.

“I’ve kept the haircut and I’m dressing differently than I used to--she freaked out when she saw this jacket,” Darcy said, gesturing to her new jacket. It was similar to one Nat wore often. “How do I reassure her that I’m actually okay?”

“It may take time,” the therapist said. “It’s normal for friends and relatives to be hyper-aware of any changes in behavior.”

  
***

If she still listened to Joe Tex's "I Believe I'm Gonna Make It”--one of his favorites--on the way out, she didn’t mention it to Jane. She left to run an errand before dinner instead. Tony paid her very well and she could use a car of her own at the facility. She was meeting a guy this afternoon.

"This is it?" she said, when she walked into his garage. "She's beautiful. I didn't realize they made them in that color."

"Yup," he said proudly. "Original paint. They call it Aqua Blue Poly in the manuals for the 1974 models."

"I love it," she told the seller.

"You want to be the owner of a 1974 Chevy Impala?" he said, smiling.

 

She drove the Impala to a coffeeshop. "I'd like a vanilla latte," she said to the barista. "The biggest one you've got."

"You smell really nice," the girl behind the counter said.

"Thanks. It's called Fracas," Darcy told her. "That's actually the samples in my purse you're smelling." 

"I've never heard of that," the girl said.

"It's kinda retro. Very strong," Darcy said. "The lady at Nordstorms last week gave me a bunch of these sample vials. I have three in my bag. Take one." 

When she left, she made sure to lean against the car for a few minutes, drinking her coffee in the sunshine. She'd picked out a new pair of sunglasses that reminded her of something from the 1960s. They looked good with her Peggy Carter lipstick. If there were photographers watching, she wanted them to get a clear shot. One of the security crew had found cigarettes in the woods around the facility last week. It could be nothing. But they were European cigarettes. She thought some of the SHIELDRA guys on the boat had smoked that brand.

 

She took out her eyeliner pencil from her purse and left a note on a napkin. Then she spritzed the note with the perfume. The scent might cling long enough, after all. When she secured it to one of the outdoor tables with a sugar container, she smiled.

The lipstick kiss had shown up clearly beneath the note:  _Do you believe in second chances when people are really in love?_

 

*** 

When she pulled up at the facility, Tony stared at her. "Where are Steve and Bucky?" she asked.

"Working out in the gym. What the hell is that?" he asked, looking at the car.

She tucked her new keys in her purse, next to his gun and her taser. The inside smelled of perfume. "Ex-Boyfriend bait. Be ready."

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was very difficult to decide between Joe Tex, March's "Chick Habit," or Wanda Jackson's "Funnel of Love" for this scene. They're all great.
> 
> I'd never heard of Joe Tex before I started this story, but I'm obsessed with his music now.


End file.
